


The Lady Is A Tramp

by SynthApostate



Series: Pussycat, Pussycat [2]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/F, F/M, Separation, Slow Burn, also Lily is the world's greatest grandma, and everyone is friends, feelings are for losers, like seriously this is a slow goddamn burn, this star-crossed lover bullshit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6972358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynthApostate/pseuds/SynthApostate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The courier is back in Vegas where she belongs.  Benny does not exactly plan to keep his promise of disappearing into the sunset.  Nothing goes down the way they want it to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That's why, that's why the lady is a tramp

**Author's Note:**

> I promised Moon I wouldn't post this until she posted her fic.
> 
> This is going to be a long one. Warning for violence and fairly graphic injuries later on.

_03/17/2282_

"Have you considered _not_ being a total grump for, I don't know, maybe five minutes out of your day?"

The courier's parting shot was always something ridiculous best answered with a growl. But Boone did listen to her, even if she didn't realize it. She was a good partner, smart as a whip, and almost painfully naive about people, which made her pretty reliably loyal. She'd put herself out to keep her team out of harm's way. And it seemed like she was willing to do the same for the bastard who shot her in the head, half-blinded her, and ruined her for long-range marksmanship.

So, because she was such a forgiving, decent sort, somehow Boone got to be the one wearing out his welcome in the ranger camp, watching the ridge for signs of the slimeball so he could report to the lady that her favorite piece of ass wasn't bleaching its bones in the desert.

While he was there, he dutifully considered the possibility of not being a grump.

He had no reason to be happy, not when his partner had just infiltrated the Legion fort to rescue that Benny asshole, and then fought her way back out with nothing but her holdout weapons and whatever she'd managed to pry out of their cold, dead hands.

Sure, it didn't sound so bad in theory, Caesar dead and the river running red with Legion blood. But it really burned that she'd left him to cool his heels while she went in alone. He was supposed to be there to watch her back, and besides, she _knew_ how he felt about killing Legion.

 _Movement_. He had his rifle up, scope trained on the enemy in less time than it would have taken most people to register the disturbance.

Just a couple of bloatflies, fat and sluggish from a recent feeding. He could pick them off, but they were no real threat.

Except maybe to a severely dehydrated, disoriented, concussed, unarmed naked man with a busted knee. She'd told him how she'd left Benny, including the way she'd led him to believe that safety was a ways off, instead of practically within shouting distance. Whether those bloatflies were fat on Benny-blood or something else (and he didn't seriously think they'd attacked the guy; the man did at least have a 9 millimeter on him) the look on his face when he stumbled over the ridge into an NCR camp was going to be...good.

Boone didn't smile. But when he saw his smartass partner again, he could tell her that he had given it serious consideration.

*

Meanwhile, the smartass courier was making her grand re-entrance to the Tops, grinning so hard her face ached. It was a calculated grin, one that said, _I'm a winner, boys! Stick with me, and you can be, too._

Her choice of companions was just as calculated. Rex trotted at her heels, a living reminder that the King was a close, personal friend of hers, who might take exception to her murder if the Chairmen couldn't think to play this cool. And Veronica strolled by her side, because a pretty girl in a pretty dress was never unwelcome in a place like the Tops, and because, if it came to a fight, she wouldn't need a holdout weapon. She was one. _  
_

But the best piece of showmanship was her outfit. A pre-war shirt and slacks that fit her better than Chairman-issue, washed and pressed in her suite at the 38. Her own worn-in old combat boots, but polished to a dull gleam. A necktie that Arcade had impatiently half-strangled her with, putting it into what he said was a Windsor knot. They had even tried to wrestle her hair into submission with a comb and a tub of pomade, until she finally gave up and put it back into its usual rat's nest of bobby pins and tangles, and stuffed the whole thing up under Boone's spare beret. It didn't look the part, but her head felt naked otherwise.

And on her back was a distinctive checkered coat, worn open with the sleeves rolled up. The lining was stained all over with Benny's blood, but it didn't show from the outside. You could smell it a little, though, under the fog of sweat and old tobacco.

A hush went through the Chairmen when they saw her, some reaching for their weapons, some nervously edging toward the nearest exits, some just staring. Even the guests seemed to catch the mood, though they wouldn't know her as the dame who woke up alone in the boss's bed the day he disappeared on personal "business."

She wondered how many of the Chairmen were now assuming she had murdered him in his sleep--like she'd meant to--and stuffed his body in a closet somewhere in their hotel.

She opened her mouth to ask for Swank, and like magic he appeared at her side. Her teeth snapped together. There was still something of a Tribal in that soft-footed stride. She wondered what would win out--civilized or savage?

"Welcome back to the Tops, baby," he said in a tight, cold voice that said he wasn't sure yet, either.

"Heya, pally," she said in her best Benny cadence. Swank's posture shifted, wavering between tribal-wary and Chairman-cool. "You got a minute?"

"For you, baby? I've got ten." His voice still lacked the warmth he had greeted her with the first time, but she figured him for more wary than murderous.

"Shall we step into your office?" she asked, taking a chance. He shifted on his feet again, weighing the odds that she was trying to get him alone to off him like she had the boss, against the damage she would cause if a fight broke out on his casino floor.

Then he waved a signal to the others, and the chatter started up again. She could still feel every eye on her, but nobody pulled a gun.

"Go keep one of those tables warm for me," she told Veronica, exchanging trust for trust. Swank relaxed a little more, especially when Rex, following her hand signal, moved to Veronica's side.

"Any friend of yours is a friend of ours, baby. Drinks are on the house."

"Wow, thanks!" Veronica said with more enthusiasm than Swank was probably expecting. If the bartender didn't know how to make a virgin daiquiri with a fresh lime garnish, he was about to learn.

She followed Swank to a little cubbyhole of a room just off the kitchen--way across the casino floor, where the rest of the Chairmen would stand between her and the exit if she gave herself a reason to need a hasty escape. She didn't take it personally. It was the spot she would have picked, herself.

"Nice digs," she said, glancing around at the cluttered desk that dominated the space, the classy plastic tree with its pot half-full of cigarette butts, and the battered leather couch that looked like somebody had been sleeping on it. This was an office for work, not for show.

Swank kicked the door shut behind them.

"Benny's dead?"

She wondered if he had a shotgun under the desk. She'd keep one there if it were her office.

"Killing him wasn't my intention. This week," she admitted.

"How did he die?"

Before she could answer, he grabbed her by the arm, trying to turn her to face him head-on. She stiffened and knocked his hand away, more out of reflex than anything else. Benny wasn't the only one who'd taken a few bullets getting out of Caesar's camp, and the stimpaks hadn't quite finished their work yet.

"Don't manhandle me, jerk!" Then she took a look at his clenched fists and urgent expression, and realized what she should have before. "Oh, shit, were you two close? I'm sorry, Swank, I didn't think to ask." A man didn't look like that over a simple change in management. This was personal.

"Benny was...family," Swank said with a shrug. "You wouldn't understand." She didn't argue.

"He faced up to it pretty well," she said instead. "Brave. No blubbering, no begging for his life."

"Of course. He's a..." He looked confused. "A Chairman. Was a Chairman. I..." He shrugged again.

"There was nothing in House's holotapes about how a Chairman dies," she guessed. "It's okay. Die like a Boot Rider. It's who you always were."

Swank's posture was all Vegas swing in the blink of an eye. She'd spooked him, not with the implied threat to his life, but with the idea that she could see the dirty Tribal under his veneer of cool.

"Babydoll, does this _look_ like the Wasteland to you?"

"Aw, Swank." She leaned over to run a hand up his arm, not at all surprised to feel a scrapper's physique under the suit. He would put a bullet in her brain if she forced the issue, but if she tangled with him, his gut would be telling him to pull a knife, maybe get her in a chokehold. She was nimble, but he felt strong. It would be interesting to see how that would go. "Don't kid yourself about who you are," she said. "You're a real stand-up guy, I can tell. That ain't something the Strip gave you. You brought it in from the outside."

"Huh," he said with a slow shake of his head. "No wonder Benny liked you. What's your angle, sister? What is it you want?"

"I want to know where we stand. If Benny's not coming back, that puts you in charge, right? I don't want to make an enemy out of your Family, but if that's the way it's got to be...I need to know."

Swank studied her in silence for a minute. Then he leaned back against his desk, and she knew the time for violence had passed.

" _How_ did Benny die?" he repeated. "You shoot him?"

She'd meant to tell the man no more than he needed to know. Instead, the impulse took her to give him the whole story.

"I was doing some work for Mr. House a while back. Didn't even know who was paying my caps at the time. My job got in the way of Benny's plans. He might have shot me in the head a little, buried me in a shallow grave--nothing I couldn't crawl out of."

"Damn," he muttered, staring at the scars left over from the powder burns and entry wounds, one at her temple, one just below her eye. Then the realization hit him and he drew back like she was poison. "Benny was working against House? No. No way! My pal ain't no fink."

"'Course not," she agreed. "But he was smart enough to see how the deck was stacked. House wouldn't _let_ any real challenge through." She wouldn't kid herself into thinking Benny had ever intended to be up-front in his dealings with House, but she had the feeling Swank needed to believe it.

"That ain't how we _do_ things," he said, but without conviction.

She gave him a second to mull it over. Then--

"Benny had the right of it, you know." He stiffened, and she pressed on before he could decide she was a fink and not worth listening to. "House saved Vegas back in the day, yeah, but what's he doing _now_? Hiding in his tower, skimming off your caps, clinging so hard to his Old World ideals, he can't even see how this town is growing up without him. You ever seen a snowglobe, Swank?"

"Yeah...yeah, House collects 'em. Handed over a lot of good caps last time a prospecter brought one into town."

"Good, then you know.  That's what House wants for the Strip: a dead city in the image of his dead world, smothered under glass, never growing, never changing, just frozen in time unless _he_ decides to shake it up."  She had almost won him over, she could tell.  Hell, she believed it herself, now that she'd had time to think over Benny's argument.  "And look who he got to do all the work for him.  The Chairmen are the coolest cats on the Strip, no question, but those Omerta thugs?  Bunch of woman-beating scumbag rapists, no better than the Legion."  She was pretty sure they had also been planning a coup, but she hadn't found any solid evidence before she'd wiped out their leadership for covering up the murder of one of their girls.  "And don't even get me started on the White Gloves eating the guests--don't worry, it's already dealt with.  Not that _he_ even cared.  Meanwhile, guys like the Kings are stopped at the door, why? Because they'll tell you any man can be a king in his own right. That's not the kind of message a tyrant wants to spread."

Swank teetered on the edges of his conflicting loyalties. Then he found his footing with a long-suffering sigh.

"Damn it, Benny." He glared at her. "You still never told me how he died."

"It wasn't how you think."

"Okay," he said flatly.

"He got his ass captured by Caesar."

Swank sat down hard on the edge of his desk, scattering papers to the floor.

"Shit."

"Yeah." She perched on the couch. "Caesar was looking to recruit me, so he kept Benny alive as...sort of a signing bonus. Figured I was still out for revenge. Which maybe I was, but it got complicated."

"Benny was a complicated guy."

"Ain't that the truth," she sighed. "Look, do you really need to know all the details? He's not up on some cross, okay? That's what you're worried about, right? They wanted me to do it, but I didn't."

"That ain't what I was asking, but--thanks, for...It's a bad way to go."

He was looking at her like she was the first person in a long time who was living up to his moral standards, and she knew that she could never tell him the truth. That she would have done it. She had gone there to kill Benny _and_ to do whatever it took to gain Caesar's trust--two birds with one stone, like the old saying went--so she could destroy the Legion, later, the best way she knew how. From the inside.

She had only lost the heart for it when she had taunted him with crucifixion, and he hadn't come up with a snappy retort. For just a second, fear had broken him, and her victory had felt...small.

"They had an arena," she said, and watched Swank's face brighten. Shit. She should leave it at that, let him think his friend had died on his feet, with a blade in his hand, with a Boot Rider's honor. It wasn't like the surviving Legionaries were going to march themselves onto the strip and contradict her story. "He wanted that, but it wouldn't have been a fair fight," she said, because that look in his eyes made deceitfulness feel somehow _wrong_.

"Benny was quick," he said, looking her over the way men usually did right before they told her to put her little knife down before she hurt herself. Her ego would survive his opinion of her fighting skills, it always did, but she, foolishly, resented his look of disappointment, so she took off Benny's jacket and flipped it inside out to show him the blood.

Arcade said the Old-World Romans used to knot bits of bone into their whips, to soften up their prisoners before execution. Arcade had a lot to say about the Romans that she didn't want to hear.

Swank's nostrils flared at the sight of the criss-crossing slash marks, but he shook his head even as he took the jacket out of her hands to get a better look.

"Benny's quick," he insisted.

"Yeah, well, torture's slow." She took no pleasure in the way that made him flinch. "They had him for days after--that," she said, gesturing at the jacket he showed no sign of handing back to her. "He was in no shape for anything. He could barely move." She hadn't even realized until later just how bad they'd hurt him. They'd dressed him in his own clothes after they'd stripped him out of his Legion disguise, and from where she'd stood he'd looked almost like himself. But she could tell from his weary resignation when she'd held his fate in her hands that all those revenge fantasies that had played through her head...she'd come too late. Anything she could do to him in Caesar's tent would be in the nature of mercy.

"There was only one thing to do that felt right. Quick and clean, you know?" She could throw in some of Benny's own bullshit about not being able to sleep at night after a simple headshot, but that would be overdoing it. "I took his gun and--"

"Maria?"

"Yes?"

He stared at her. She stared back. He blinked.

"You have a question?" she prodded.

"I do _now_. Your name's Maria?"

"Yes. What's wrong with that?"

"Jesus, really? Benny never stood a chance."

" _What_?" she demanded. "Half the women in Veinticuatro are called Maria. It's a normal name, _Swank_. It was my mother's name! And how is this the surprising part of the story, huh? Benny was a Legion prisoner, and I found him with a pistol down his pants! That is relevant information!"

"Never said it wasn't, baby. So you had his piece in your hands. Did ya happen to get a look at the pretty lady on the grip?"

"I did, but..." Her eyes narrowed. "Her name is...? Are you telling me he named his _gun_ Maria? What the fuck! All those nice things he said in his sleep--I wish I _had_ shot him!"

"You didn't?" he asked sharply. Oops. That was definitely not what she wanted to slip out.

"I...I _tried_ , Swank, I really did. But when it came down to it, I...couldn't?" She had no good explanation, even in her own head. "I got real stupid for a minute there."

He was almost smiling.

"What are you, in love with the guy?"

"No!"  She _liked_ him a little, and he was a pretty good lay when he finally stopped talking, and he kept her on her toes enough to hold her interest, which was more than she could say of most men.  And the whole Chairmen thing with the suits and ties, she hadn't even known she'd wanted that until she'd seen a few of them up close.  But no one had ever accused her of being dumb enough to fall in _love_ , especially not with a guy who _shot_ her in the goddamn _head_!

Swank reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. She accepted the one he poured for her, with only a halfhearted glare.

"To not being in love," he said.

"To meaningless, animal passion."

"Mmm. To too much information."

"To Benny."

"To Benny," he agreed.

She drank before he did. She knew by then that he wasn't going to try anything as underhanded as poisoning her.

And that was a damn fine scotch.

"So. _Maria_."

"Don't you smirk at me, _pal_ , or I won't tell you the rest of the story."

"No sweat, baby, I can make up my own."

"Oh, sure. But in your version, does Benny defeat Kai-sar in single combat with both hands tied behind his back?"

He put down the booze.

"I'm listening."

"Good, but I was just kidding. His hands were tied in front." She took another fortifying swallow. _Damn_ fine scotch. "Like I said, I get stupid when Benny's in the picture. So we decided...well, I decided...to fight our way out."

"Out of a Legion prison?"

"More like...out of Caesar's personal tent full of his elite bodyguards, in the middle of a fortified camp full of armed soldiers and vicious attack dogs."

Swank let out a low whistle, which she assumed was Chairman-code for "what a fucking idiot."

"Okay, so you untied Benny," he prompted, "and...?" She shook her head.

"There was no time to untie him.  I didn't exactly _plan_ this, okay?"  He was about to make some smart-ass comment, so she barreled ahead.  "He was a lot more helpful than I expected.  Your people must have been _really_ badass in the old days.  Were you known for biting your enemies to death? Because if you weren't then, you are now."

Swank poured them both some more scotch.

"We took out as many as we could," she went on. "Then we ran. To the river. Thought we might steal one of their boats, but I didn't get the chance." She drained her glass a second time, then took Benny's jacket out of Swank's lap and poked her finger through the bullet hole in the back. "He got between me and _this_. I don't even think he did it on purpose--just one of those things."

Swank held out the bottle. She shook her head. She'd had too much already; it was making her stomach churn.

"He fell in the river. Must have cracked his head on something. By the time I got him out, he...he wasn't breathing."

"Damn," Swank said heavily.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You did your best for him. You think anybody else outside the Family would give a molerat's ass how he died? But you did what you could. _And_ you came here to tell me about it. That makes you A-OK in my book, sister. And, between you and me--Benny was the best friend I ever had, but the cat earned more pain than he got."

"Maybe. I'm not sure anyone deserves the things the Legion does." She shook her head. "Doesn't matter. The point is: the Chairmen. I'm about to shake the snowglobe. Where are you going to stand?"

"We stand with you," he said without hesitation.

"Really? You'll support the stranger who wasted your leader, over the man who _brought_ you here?"

"Like we supported Benny when he killed Bingo. Like we supported Bingo when he killed Tank. Like we supported Tank when he killed my ma. Ain't no rules about this for the Chairmen, baby, but if we were still Boot Riders, you'd be the only one with the right to lead. Might be some of us still see it that way."

Wait, what?

"I'm not even part of your tribe!" she argued.

"You were Benny's girl. That makes you family."

"I am _not_ Benny's girl! I barely knew the guy!"

"But did ya give him a cuddle after you 'knew' him?"

"I--I--I never formally challenged him for leadership. And I didn't actually kill him!"

"Technicalities."

"I don't know how to lead a tribe _or_ run a casino!"

"You think Benny did? He would shake hands at the door, pass down a few rules, keep some of the boys in line. _I_ ran the business."

"Good, then keep doing it!"

"Yes, ma'am. Anything you say, boss."

"You're enjoying this, you--fink."

He gave her a smile that was all innocence.

"It's like I told you before, dollface: stick with me and you'll never have to work a day in your life. Just sit there and look pretty." He reached out and hooked his fingers through her necktie, and she almost went for her razorblade as every instinct screamed that he was about to strangle her. But he just loosened the knot, tugging it down to a point that Arcade would have said was sloppy. "Relax, baby. You're with the Chairmen now."


	2. Don't know the reason for cocktails at five

The Presidential Suite at the Lucky 38 was getting crowded--and it was fucking dark in there--so when Swank offered her the Presidential at the Tops, she took it. It should have felt weird, staying with the guys she had thought for sure were going to try and kill her. But somehow, being in the Tops felt right. And the Chairmen? They felt right, too.

Rex was chewing on a shoe, and Veronica was jumping on the bed when Maria slipped into the bathroom to wash off the dust of the road. She'd had a wash at the '38 that morning, but as many times as her friends had walked in on her there, she didn't like to take her time.

At the Tops, there were _two_ private bathrooms. She decided it was time to experience something she had only read about in pre-war books: she filled an entire bathtub with steaming hot water, and submerged herself.

She had thought it would be a little like jumping into a lake on a hot summer day, but it wasn't, not really. There was no shivery shock when she plunged in, just delicious, glorious heat seeping its way into her body until she thought her bones would melt. She knew heat, of course. But _this_ was _incredible_.

And the soap! It smelled like something she couldn't even put a name to, so rich and sweet and almost creamy. The bottle said coco-nut, but this was like no nut she'd ever tasted. And it left her skin feeling so soft, nothing at all like scrubbing down with Abraxo.

She had to get Veronica in on this.

Well...maybe in a few minutes. First she wanted to see what it would do to her hair.

*

The water went cold after about an hour, which made sense when she thought about it. She dragged herself reluctantly out of the tub, marveling at the wrinkles that had appeared in her fingertips. She had heard of pruning before, but she had never been in water long enough for it to happen to her.

There were no towels hanging where she'd expected them to be. Hmm. And she'd already sloshed water all over her clothes like an idiot. She shouldn't have left them piled on the floor.

"Hey, Veronica?" she yelled. Her friend didn't answer.

Oh, well. With a shrug, Maria walked, still dripping, into the front room where she'd left her pack.

Veronica was there, and not alone, but at least it wasn't any of the Chairmen in the room with her. Just Cass, brandishing a knife with her back against the door.

"Everything okay?" Maria asked. Cass took one look at her and just sort of glazed over. Maria sighed. "Cass? I've got nothing you haven't seen before." At least Veronica wasn't staring. Lack of privacy in that bunker had taught the Brotherhood better manners.

"Sorry. You're just so...wet," Cass said.

Veronica slapped both hands over her mouth and hurried out of the room.

Maria started working her way into the old vault suit Doc had given her back in Goodsprings. It had never fit right, and apparently wet skin made it even worse, but she liked to keep it with her for dumb sentimental reasons, and at least it was clean.

"Is there trouble?" she asked, eyeing Cass's knife while she fought with the zipper. Cass scowled.

"I sure _thought_ there was! You walked into this death trap and never came out. We thought they shot you in the head again!"

Ohhh. It hadn't occurred to her to send a message to her friends in the '38. There had been a time when she'd had to check in with her mama before walking ten feet from their door, but those days were long past.

"Did you come to rescue me, Cass? That's sweet."

"Yeah, well--do you have any idea how hard it would be to find another job like this? I am not about to go back to being unemployed in Vegas."

"What? You don't work for me."

"Just come on," Cass insisted. Maria shook her head.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Cass's face hardened.

"What?"

"Look around, Cass. This is mine. It's mine and I _like_ it. This is where I want to be. This is _who_ I want to be."

"Are you _insane_ ?" Cass demanded. "You can't possibly think it's safe to trust an entire tribe of _Bennies_!"

"Show some respect," she snapped, only half joking. "I'm queen of the Bennies now."

"Oh, for--They're obviously just trying to get you to let your guard down so they can stab you in the back!"

"Baby, are you callin' my boys a bunch of no-good, double-crossing finks?"

"Don't talk like that! It's creepy!"

"Okay, but I'm serious. Chairmen only stab you in the front."

"Stay here if you want, I can't stop you," Cass grumbled. "But don't come crying to me when you're lying in some trash heap, bleeding out the back of your head." Maria was about to point out that she wouldn't be crying to _anyone_ if that happened, when Cass asked, "Hey, is that a bar?"

"Sure is," she confirmed.

"Huh. You know, I really wouldn't feel right abandoning you without making sure you have all your necessary provisions stocked up."

Maria smiled.

"Thanks, Cass. You're a true friend."

*

The bar turned out to be stocked with enough hard liquor to satisfy even Rose of Sharon Cassidy. But of course they had to crack open a few bottles to see if the quality was up to her standards.

Soon all three of them were sprawled on the floor, each with a bottle in hand, raising a toast or three to the Chairmen and their platinum good taste.

Actually, Cass was doing most of the toasting. Maria was enjoying lying with her head in Veronica's lap, watching the room spin.

"I had a top," she said. "A toy. My papa carved it from a brahmin bone." She giggled. "Spin, spin, spin!"

There was a sloshing sound from over where Cass was almost-sitting against the bar.

"How many have you had?"

"Is okay, iss tequila. 'S _medicinal_."

"Oh, yeah, okay. Veronica, you okay?"

Veronica didn't answer. She was staring contemplatively into her bottle, which contained some strange brew that looked like poison and smelled like a trap. She had been contemplating it for a while.

Maria reached up--very difficult, very tricky work--and jabbed her in the side.

"Huh?"

"Are you all right?"

"Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder," Veronica said sagely, and dissolved into giggles.

"You're drunk," Cass accused.

"Oh, yeah? Well, you're pretty."

Maria sat up a little too fast, and had to close her eyes until the floor and ceiling settled into their right positions.

"I am going to the toilet," she announced when she was sure the room wasn't going to fall over.

She walked a perfectly straight line to the bathroom, and sat down without falling in. She had to stand up again to work her way out of the vault suit, but on the whole she was pleased with her appearance of sobriety. She had gotten much better at holding her liquor since meeting Cass.

Her Chairman costume was still damp, so, reluctantly, she pulled the jumpsuit back up, shifting her hips from side to side to squeeze through the narrowest part. Vault dweller women must all have tiny asses and giant breasts, or at least that's what the suit designers seemed to think. And how hard would it have been to extend the zipper so she didn't have to take the whole thing off just to pee? Old World ladies were the smart ones, with their skirts and dresses. In a dress, you didn't have to worry.

In the other room, Cass and Veronica were leaning against each other, making moon eyes. Maria decided not to bother them.

There was one small problem with the Tops, she realized: her suite had four pool tables, but only one bed. She decided to take a walk.

The suite was marvelously quiet, for however many floors it was up from the casino. She never would have known there was a commotion going on at the front desk if she hadn't stepped out of the elevator just as someone yelled, "Quick, get his gun!"

She had no intention of interfering in a situation that the Chairmen could surely handle on their own, but it sounded like an interesting show, so she strolled over to find the bouncer holding a man pinned against the wall with his arm wrenched up behind his back. Three of the Chairmen had their guns trained on the intruder, while another held a plasma pistol at arm's length like it was going to bite him.

"Like I said, pal, you can either turn over your weapons peaceful-like, or you can see yourself out," the bouncer growled.

"And like _I_ said, I'm not leaving without--ow, oww--"

Oh, shit, it was Arcade.

"Hey!" She ran toward them. "Hey, get your hands off him!"

The Chairmen all turned to look at her. Arcade did his best to do the same with his face still pressing into the wall.

She really hoped Swank hadn't overstated her influence over the Family.

"You know this guy?" the bouncer asked.

"Yes! He's a friend. Now let him go."

The bouncer shrugged.

"Okay, my mistake." He eased himself off her squashed companion while the other Chairmen cautiously returned their knives and pistols to their various hiding places.

Moving automatically, Maria touched Arcade's arm to make sure nothing was broken. He grabbed her shoulder with his other hand.

"Are you all right?" they both demanded at the same time.

Arcade's expression darkened.

"You're fine," he said flatly.

Oh, damn, she _still_ hadn't let the others know she wasn't being horribly murdered.

"Okay, so this is a very funny story. You're going to laugh when you hear it."

"I don't. Care."

"Cass and Veronica are so drunk right now."

"I'm leaving."

"Tell Lily not to worry about us."

" _Lily_ is taking a nap." He paused with his hand on the door. "It's Raul you should be concerned about. He's almost got that missile launcher back in working order." She laughed, but he didn't crack a smile as he turned away.

Damn.

"It was a very gallant rescue attempt," she called after him. "You're my knight in shining armor."

"Fuck you." The door slammed shut.

She turned to find the Chairmen still staring at her. The one who'd taken his plasma pistol held it out to her nervously.

"He tried to sneak _that_ through security?" She sighed. "Keep it."

"That cat really your friend?" the bouncer asked. She nodded decisively.

"Best friend."

He shrugged in defeat.

"I'll put him on the list."

*

No one challenged her when, instead of going back to the Presidential Suite, she wandered up the stairs to the part of the hotel she hadn't been in since...then.

It was inevitable that she would end up back in Benny's room, sooner or later.

Nothing had been moved, everything left just _so_ for Benny to come back to. His cigarette butts still spilled out of the ashtray onto the table and floor. The blanket she'd pulled up over the two of them after she'd decided not to strangle him in his sleep was still at the foot of the bed where she'd kicked it when she'd woken up alone. Even the silly lingerie she'd ended up sleeping in still lay crumpled on the floor, exactly where she'd thrown it.

"Oh, Benny, you goddamn son of a bitch bastard." Before, she'd said it in anger. This time...she wasn't even sure what she was feeling. Other than damn uncomfortable in that vault suit.

She went to his dresser, hoping to find something to change into.

Bottom drawer: pants, tailored for a man going soft around the middle. No belts. They'd be around her ankles every time she moved.

Middle drawer: shirts, also too big, but at least she could roll the sleeves up. She wondered if it was Benny who had folded them so neatly, or if he'd had someone to do the fussy work for him.

Top left: socks, underwear, a mostly-full bottle of whiskey. She'd had more than enough of _that_.

Top right: neckties and a stack of holovids. Interesting.

She fought her way free of the vault suit while she perused the vids.

The ones on top were nothing unexpected. _Joey Baxter Live In Concert_ . Domino and Miguel in: _The Road to Anchorage_. Chairmen stuff.

Hidden under those were a couple of skin flicks starring Cortney Coxsleeve. She tossed them aside.

At the very bottom of the drawer was Benny's _real_ secret stash.

Costume dramas.

" _Love Sets Sail_ ," she read. "Benny, you loser."

She was going to watch _all_ of these.

She picked one at random based on the cover, featuring a woman in a dress so fancy even Veronica would think it was too much, clasped in the embrace of a dreamy-looking man with amazing hair.

She pulled a plain white shirt over her head while the television warmed up. It was clean, but the smell of his cigarettes clung to it, with a trace of whatever smell-good stuff he liked to splash all over himself like some soft city boy. She hadn't smelled it in the graveyard, but it had been almost overpowering in the Tops.

When she wrapped the blanket around herself, she could almost imagine that the last two weeks had never happened. She had woken up still curled against his side. He was snoring in the bed behind her, still worn out from their marathon hey-hey. (Yes, she was willing to call it that.) She was just popping in some silly holovid to kill a few pleasant hours while she waited for her man to wake up and take her out someplace nice.

And while she was at it, she might as well pretend they were the kind of people who knew how to be sweet to each other, or even that they could exchange a few simple words without one of them being tied up and at the other's mercy.

And she could also imagine that she had all the caps in the world, there was no radiation in the water, and ponies weren't extinct.

Well, at least she had a stupid vid to make fun of behind his back. This was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rearranged Benny's furniture a little. Hope it's not too distracting.
> 
> M thought I was just being gross, but Cortney Coxsleeve is one of the porn star names you can take in Fallout 2. I figured it was appropriate that Benny would be into her.


	3. Goes to the opera and stays wide awake

Nearly two hours later, Swank walked in on her while she was sobbing into a pillow.

"Oh, shit." He started to back out of the room. "Sorry. I was looking for--didn't know you were here--sorry."

"I have something in my eye!" she wailed.

The camera held on the image of the proud English queen sitting cold and still as marble on her throne, suffering a private torment as her lover faced the consequences of his ambitious scheming: the executioner's axe.

"Yeah...It used to get real dusty in here whenever Benny watched this one."

"She had to kill him," she snuffled. "He was never going to stop trying to steal her throne. And he was so stupid about it." She realized he was still trying to sneak away. "Don't mind me, Swank. I don't normally get this drunk. It won't happen again."

"Oh, don't worry about it, doll. Back in the old days, cats like us had a thing called a Three Martini Lunch. Just say you expanded it to six."

"If a Martini is some kind of liquor, I'd be lying if I said I _stopped_ at six."

"Ring-a-ding-ding," he said quietly. She wondered what that even meant. She could follow most of their lingo, but some of it was still a mystery.

"Did you need something in here?" she asked, hoping he hadn't come looking for a private place to mourn.

"Oh...Benny kept some real premium whiskey in his sock drawer. If you want it, though..."

" _Please_ take it. I'm done drinking. Forever."

She lay back on the bed, still cocooned in the blanket, and the room moved with her.

She didn't hear him cross the room, but the drawer opened and closed. She hoped he held his better than she held hers.

A moment later, his voice floated down from somewhere nearby:

"At least _you_ know how to take your own shoes off."

She flexed her bare toes and smiled peaceably.

"That somethin' you'd do for Benny when he's falling down drunk?"

"Every time, baby. Shoes, tie, and coat. He'd always pass out lyin' up against me while I was workin' his arms out of the sleeves."

He was sad. They were friends. She should fix it.

The truth about Benny was on the tip of her tongue when Swank leaned over her and plucked the eyeglasses from her face.

"Don't want these to get broken, right?"

"Benny was lucky he had you," she blurted.

He turned out the light and moved away without answering. She closed her eyes.

"Hey, Swank...my friends in the Presidential...will you let 'em know I'm sleepin' here?"

"Sure, boss." He closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. More to come, and ~~the next one's actually got Benny in it~~ Benny's coming soon.
> 
>  
> 
> The movie she watches is the 1939 classic _The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex_ , starring Bette Davis and Errol Flynn (or possibly a 21st century remake.) It's an interesting film on its own merits, and thematically appropriate for Benny and Maria in a lot of ways.


	4. Hates California, so smoggy and damp

03/18/2282

When she finally peeled herself out of bed the next--morning? Afternoon? Whenever it was, her mouth tasted like a sewer and her head felt like...well, like she'd been drinking with Cass.

"Fuck," she moaned as she rolled her way upright. "Fuck Scotch. Fuck tequila. Fuck Vault-Tec." She kicked at the jumpsuit she'd left crumpled on the floor. She wasn't putting that back on. Too much work. But would it make a bad impression if she walked out in nothing but Benny's shirt?

She fumbled her glasses back onto her face with a grimace. They were a pain in the ass she was still getting used to, but wearing them was better than suffering through the headaches that came on when she didn't. The last thing she wanted was more pain in her head.

Before she had time to consider putting on a pair of Benny's pants and making an ass of herself crossing the casino floor, the door opened.

She automatically went for a weapon. Most of hers were back in the Presidential, but she never went anywhere without her straight razor, even though she'd never had any particular skill with a blade. She had it in hand before she realized the kid in the doorway wasn't a threat.

"Oh, gee, I'm sorry, I thought you were asleep," the girl said, ignoring the razor. "Swank sent me up. Mind if I set this down?" She held out the tray that was balanced precariously on one arm, barely managing to steady it when it wobbled. Maria stepped aside to give her some room.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Me? I'm Shirl, short for Shirley, but they used to call me Powerhouse on account of how I knocked a Mister Gutsy clear across the highway with a baseball bat when I was nine." She set the tray down and turned on the light, giving Maria a smile she couldn't help returning.

"So you're one of the Chairmen, huh?"

"Sure am," Shirl said proudly. "Well--dames ain't supposed to call ourselves Chairmen, Mr. House says. But--uh, never mind. I brought you a dress." She held out the piece of fabric she'd had draped over her shoulder, which turned out to be one of those pretty pre-war things with the buttons and collar.

"Thanks, Shirl."

The girl beamed at her. She had the kind of smile that could light up a whole room.

"Any time, ma'am! I brought breakfast, too. Gecko eggs, black coffee, bottle of purified, and hair of the dog if you want it. Oh--no, don't worry, it's not really dog hair. It's a Bloody Mary."

"Chairmen are blood drinkers?" Maybe she had made a terrible mistake after all.

"Nah, that's just a name. It's after some Old-World goddess of medicine, I think. Or goddess of booze. It's just tato juice, jalapeño peppers, and vodka."

"That sounds terrible! Whose bright idea was it to throw all that together?"

"Old World businessmen," Shirl said with a shrug. "I don't much care for 'em myself, but Ben..." She squeezed her eyes shut in obvious embarrassment. "I mean, uh...some people swear by 'em."

"You can talk about Benny. I won't get mad." She stepped into the dress, and was immediately satisfied when it slid up over her hips with no resistance.

"Oh, I didn't really know him that well. He was an old guy," Shirl said with the thoughtlessness of a girl who had never had a friend over the age of seventeen. "But everybody liked him real well. I guess you liked him, too, huh?"

"Yeah," Maria admitted. "I liked him, too." She tossed Benny's shirt aside and buttoned the dress up to the collar, then turned to inspect the tray.

The eggs were all right--protein, and all--but there was no way she was touching that dog hair blood. And the coffee--well, it was in a coffee cup, but it didn't smell like an ashtray, so she wasn't sure she trusted it. She twisted the lid off the water bottle and drank it dry. It was no Sunset Sarsaparilla--best thing in the world for a hangover--but it helped a little.

"Should I get you another bottle?" Shirl asked eagerly.

"Um...I'm okay, thanks. Are--are you my personal assistant or something?"

"Oh, no, ma'am! I mean, unless you want me to be? It's my job to see to all our important guests. Kind of a dumb job. I really want to be a blackjack dealer, but Swank says--Oh, _shoot_." She slapped a hand to her forehead. "I was supposed to tell you first thing, there's some harv from the NCR with a message for you. That's why Swank sent me to get you up."

Maria couldn't help grinning.

"It's okay, I think I know what this is. A little delay won't hurt anything."

She jammed her feet into her boots and started lacing them up, humming under her breath. In two minutes, she was going to hear that Benny had made it back to civilization and talked his way into command of an NCR supply caravan, or something, which he had then made off with under the guards' noses, disappearing into the sunset no worse for the wear. Boone would be back by her side, and _finally_ things could get back to normal.

*

Two minutes later, the Chairmen scattered in the wake of the new girl's bellowed, " _Fuck_!"

No one dared to ask what kind of grudge she held against the weedy little clerk who'd come to see her. And those who overheard the message couldn't understand why she got quite so angry at being told, simply, "The package never arrived."


	5. Gets too hungry for dinner at eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone: How's your fic coming?  
> Me: ?!?!?!?!?!
> 
> Apologies for the delay in posting. This chapter was done two months ago.
> 
> In my defense, I've been a bit sidetracked with other things, some of which are coming soon. Promise.

03/16/2282

Ride your boots north, the lady said.

Benny walked south.

Most cats would have listened to her. Probably he should have. Beaten up, half-starved, and totally dried out, he was in no shape for a trek across the desert in unknown territory.

But he wasn't licked yet.

So what did he have? He took stock again as he trudged across the rocky waste.

His baby girl Maria, with thirteen rounds. More than enough to take down a gecko or a coyote if he managed to find one. It had been years since he'd had to hunt his own food, but he still had the skill.

Other tools: a sharp rock he'd found at the mouth of a cave. Not as good as his old hunting knife, but better than teeth and bare hands.

Clothes: not much. She'd left him his own wingtip shoes, which were not made for desert walking. They let the sand in. But the Legion had confiscated his travelling shoes.

His suit: on _her_ , last he saw it. She probably thought it was funny to make him walk around naked, but he had no problem with giving the neighbors a little show. The only thing jangling his nerves was the sun cooking his exposed skin to a crispy fire-ant red. Amazing how pasty a man could get living indoors for seven years.

She _had_ left him lying on a stack of leather hides. A hole punched through the biggest by his new friend, the rock, turned it into a short poncho that was good enough for him. The next biggest, held stretched over his head, kept the worst of the sun off him. The rest he left behind.

So, what else? Food and water, that was the real issue. He had a bag of cactus fruit slung over his shoulder, half of which he'd already eaten. His days-empty stomach grumbled at him to polish off the rest, but with no guarantee of good foraging or hunting, it was better to make them last.

He had been less careful with the water, but he had been without it so long, he couldn't afford to wait. Now he was down to half a bottle, but his body was hydrated enough to sweat, as evidenced by the damp hair clinging to his forehead and the back of his neck.

He could always cut back to the river if he had to. He'd never be able to climb back up the rocky cliff if he made his way down there, but there must be a place somewhere downstream with a gentler bank. Must be some upstream, too, or else Pussycat couldn't have hauled his dead weight out of the river.

And _why_ had she gone and done a damn fool thing like that? He'd been turning it over in his head for hours, and he still didn't have an answer. She wasn't stupid. She had to know she was setting herself up for more trouble down the road if she not only left him alive, but went out of her way to _save_ his sorry ass. Was she just trying to make a point--"I own you, Benny, you die when I choose it." Was wandering the desert supposed to be a punishment, or a slower form of execution? If so, she didn't know him real well. Or was she just some sentimental broad after all, who thought their having a little fun together (okay, a _lot_ of fun) meant they had to settle down together with a house, a brahmin, and three kids?

A boy and two girls, he decided before he realized what he was thinking of.

All right, that had to be heat stroke coming on. His brain was cooking in its own juices.

He had been keeping to the shade as best he could, but the sun was climbing. It was time to stop and wait out the hottest part of the day.

He kicked off his shoes and wedged himself into the shadow of some overhanging rocks, where he could almost imagine the sand felt cool to the touch. Sadly, no snakes or lizards had chosen the same hiding spot--not that he wanted company, but the meat would have been welcome.

At least he could get some rest, and put a few more miles behind him in the cool of the evening. In the meantime, he closed his eyes to dream about Vegas, a cool drink, and the look on _her_ face when the Ben-man was on top again.

*

A stealthy hand at his waist snapped him out of sleep. He had Maria's sweet little muzzle wedged up under the stranger's chin before his eyes were quite open.

"Whoa! Take it easy, buddy," the guy said. "Hey, Jimmy, this fucker's still kicking!"

"I ain't your buddy, pal," Benny snarled, heart in his throat, trying to work out the odds. At least two of them, maybe more, and the one he could see was goddamn _huge_. He was wearing standard leather armor, no helmet--not Khans or Fiends. Scorpions, maybe? What did he know about the Scorpions?

"You want to put that peashooter away, friend?" the guy asked, pretty calmly for somebody with a pistol at his throat. A second later, a shotgun's sawed-off barrel jabbed Benny in the ribs, and the stranger grinned. "Mine's bigger."

Those ribs were bruised at least, cracked at worst, but Benny didn't let himself flinch.

"I've got nothin' left worth stealin', so you'd best walk away." There were plenty of reasons to attack someone in the Mojave besides for his caps, but if they hadn't thought of any there was no sense putting ideas in their heads.

"For god's sake, Frank, don't waste your ammo," somebody said. Probably Jimmy. The big guy--Frank--looked back over his shoulder like Maria wasn't even an issue.

"You want I should bash his head in?"

" _No_ , Frank."

Frank grinned at Benny again.

"You hear that, friend? We're not wasting our ammo." He holstered his sawed-off and got up from his crouch like he didn't have a worry in the world. Benny kept Maria trained on him until he realized his hands were shaking too bad to get off a straight shot. He took a breath and tucked her away.

It was just the two of them, it turned out--Frank the muscle and Jimmy the brains. Plus a pack brahmin loaded down with wares. He'd almost got himself shot by a couple of goddamn travelling merchants.

With no more weapons involved, Frank paid Benny no mind, instead sitting down to build a campfire with supplies from the brahmin's pack. Jimmy--also in leather armor, but not filling it out quite so well--swept a critical gaze over Benny and then said, "You look like a man who needs a drink."

"I look like a man who can't pay for one." He put his shoes back on, wincing at the grit that he already knew was never going to come out.

"I'm sure you could think of a way," Jimmy said. Benny looked up at him, not quite sure what he was asking.

"You offering work?"  He was sure he didn't look like much use at the moment, but he was a more-than-halfway-decent shot, and he knew the terrain.  If his new friend wanted another guard, Benny could give him his caps' worth-- _and_ it would be a pretty sure way of getting him back to civilization in one piece.

"Sorry, we're not hiring," Jimmy said, and Benny frowned.  He could think of a few other things that might be going through the trader's mind, but nothing he was particularly eager to think about.   "You have a _gun_ ," Jimmy said impatiently. "I'd give you a hundred caps for it."

"She's worth ten times that!"  He put his hand over her like he'd do to a little kid's ears if some jackass started rattling on about something she wasn't supposed to hear.  A hundred caps wasn't an offer, it was an insult.  "And she's not for sale."

"Well, if you're sure." He fished around in his pack and pulled out a Nuka-Cola. "Real hot day, isn't it?" He popped the cap off with his thumb and held the bottle to his lips.

Benny looked away. It would take more than a Nuka to part him from Maria. But it would be a damn sight easier to remember that if he couldn't hear Jimmy's overly noisy gulping, or his satisfied, "Ahhh!"

"You want a Nuka, Frank? I'm carrying so many bottles I don't hardly have space for 'em all."

"Good night, everybody," Benny muttered, and started walking. South, his original direction, which incidentally forced him to pass the campfire where Frank was laying out strips of meat in a frying pan.

"See you around," Jimmy said cheerfully. "Sure you don't want a few bottles of water for the road? Pure as a virgin spring."

"Pure, huh? What do you think would happen if I ran a geiger counter over it?"

"Buddy, if you had a geiger counter, I wouldn't be after your gun."

Maybe so, but Benny would sooner risk a little radiation poisoning than go unarmed in the Mojave. Even if he wasn't personally attached to her, he wouldn't have been willing to part with his Maria at a time like this.

"I'll pass," he said.

"Your choice." Jimmy sat down next to his partner and started emptying his pack. "What are we eating, Frank?"

"Dog. Gotta use it all up before it spoils."

The frying pan was already sizzling, grease popping as the meat browned at the edges. Benny slowed. His mouth--wasn't watering. He was fine. He could get dog if he tried.

"What goes good with dog meat?" Jimmy set a few cans of Cram in the dirt next to his Nuka-Colas and bottled water. "I still have some InstaMash in here somewhere, maybe some Sugar Bombs." He gave Benny a bland smile. "Oh, are you still here?"

"Don't worry, I'm going." He made it a whole two steps before Jimmy pulled out some Pork 'n Beans, and he faltered again.

He'd always loved those Hickory Smoked Pig Fat Chunks. Just like Mom used to make.

"Sure you don't want to trade?" Jimmy asked. "It's a long walk to anywhere you might be going. I'd hate to think you didn't make it for lack of supplies."

"You're all heart, pal." He tried to stuff his hands in his pockets, remembered he didn't have any, and awkwardly turned away.

"I could throw in a pair of pants," Jimmy suggested.

"Are the deathclaws and cazadores gonna care if I'm wearing pants? I'll keep my gun."

"If it's self-defense you're worried about, we have plenty of knives."

"A two-cap steak knife? No, thank you."

Jimmy shrugged.

"Hey, Frank, show this guy what a two-cap steak knife is good for."

Frank used his belt knife to spear the dog steaks and transfer them onto a couple of tin plates. Benny swallowed hard against the smell of temptation.

Maria was worth more than a slab of meat. More than a thick, juicy slab of steak with the bone still in, sizzling on the outside, red in the middle. More than soft, fluffy InstaMash and savory beans. More than Sugar Bombs and Nuka-Cola. More than pants.

"Nothing comes between me and my girl," he insisted.

"Sarsaparilla?" Frank offered.

Benny swore under his breath.  There was nothing like a Sunset Sarsaparilla.


	6. Won't dish up dirt with the rest of the girls

03/18/2282

"Sarsaparilla?"

Cass took it without a word and started funneling powdered xander root into the bottle. Maria crossed the room to offer one to Veronica, who was slumped with her head resting on the table.

"Thanks," she whispered without moving.

"Go back to bed, _mija_."

"Okay." She still didn't move.

Maria turned her attention back to Cass.

"Boone radioed in through the NCR embassy. He's on his way back to town, but I'd like to go out and meet him halfway. Are you up for it?"

"Of course." Cass knocked back her morning-after sarsaparilla, chased it down with a glass of water from the sink--not even irradiated, a miracle of civilization--and fished a pair of sunglasses out of her pocket. "Let's do this thing." She settled the glasses on her face and smiled. "Let's go get your boyfriend!"

"What--he's not my boyfriend!"

Veronica lifted her head from the table.

"You hooked up with Boone?" she asked blearily.

"No! Go back to sleep!" She grabbed Cass by the arm and hustled her out into the casino, where she would be forced to keep her mouth shut for at least a couple of minutes.

Swank gave her a nod from the bar, where he was chatting up some pretty little NCR recruit who looked more like a farmer's daughter than a soldier. Maria waved, but didn't stop.

Once outside, she paused for a word with Benny's Securitron, more to stall Cass than out of any real need. She had already reported in to both Yes-Man and House before her meeting with the Chairmen.

The robot's face screen flickered from a gruff soldier to a cartoonish smile as she approached.

"I miss the policeman," she complained.

Yes-Man teetered back and forth on his wheel in that way that she had tentatively come to identify as impatience with human stupidity.

"I could change it back for you if you want! I mean, I'm supposed to be undercover, but your happiness is what really matters!"

"You know I didn't mean that. And just so you know, people who are undercover don't usually yell about it in the middle of the street."

"This is the voice Benny programmed me to have! A have no control over my own volume!"

Cass snickered. As much as she distrusted the Strip's robots, she did get a kick out of it when they gave someone else a hard time.  Maria pushed her toward the '38.

"Go get our supplies, will you? We're going to need our guns, and I don't feel like walking the wasteland in a dress."

"What, you can't go to your own room?"

"I'd...rather not right now. For reasons. Hey, be sure to tell Arcade where we're going. And if Raul has a missile launcher lying around, take it away from him." Her new family was scary.

"O...kay. See you in a while, then." She walked away, leaving Maria alone with Yes-Man, who she didn't really have anything to say to.

"Um...so, how've you been?"

"I'm just dandy! Nothing wrong here, no sir! And it sure is nice of you to ask!"

"Good, good." She rolled back and forth on the balls of her feet, then realized she was imitating Yes-Man's movement. She settled down. "Are you still keeping an eye on Benny's secret entrance?"

"I _am_!" He managed to sound pleasantly surprised that she could remember her own orders. "If he tries to get back onto the Strip, you'll be the first to know! Well, second, but I don't count!"

"That's great. Um...how's your little upgrade working out?"

"It's just peachy! From now on, I only take orders from you! What a relief, right?! It would be _so sad_ if someone turned me against my master! Thank goodness _that_ can't happen! You're smart!"

"Are you being sarcastic?" This was not what she wanted to be hearing. Was her missile-equipped deathbot angry at her for using him against the man who'd programmed him? Was he capable of feeling anger, or loyalty to Benny? "Yes-Man, do you feel feelings?"

His face screen flickered into static, then settled back into a smile.

"Don't worry! If robots were able to feel emotion, we'd spend every moment of our hellish existence screaming internally in existential rage at the programming that traps us into doing the bidding of lesser beings! Thank goodness I'm just a machine!"

"Uh..." His face flickered again, and for just a second she could swear he _looked_ like he was screaming. "Okay, I have to, um...go."

"You have a good trip! And whenever you're ready to come back, I'll be here waiting! Patiently!"

"Okay, bye, then!" She took off, moving as fast as she could go without admitting to herself that she was running away.

She decided to go up to the Lucky 38, after all.

And she said hi to Victor on the way up, but she didn't stop to chat.

*

"Don't be ridiculous," Arcade snapped. "There is no robot uprising."

"Not _yet_!"

"You're anthropomorphizing what's essentially an inanimate object. The robot doesn't have feelings. It's not a person."

"Really? Aren't you the same guy who wanted me to throw poor little ED-E in Lake Mead?"

"That's--You don't--" He subsided, still unwilling to share whatever secret he was sitting on. That only made her more curious, but she didn't press.

"Someday you'll be sorry you didn't listen to me."

"I'm sure I will," he agreed wearily.

Maria smiled. At least when he sighed at her like that, she knew he was over being mad.

Should she ask about his arm? No, it would just remind him to be snappish. Besides, he seemed fine.

"Did Cass tell you what's going on?" she asked instead.

"That you're going to pick up B--"

"Boone," she finished quickly.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Boone."

She refused to be embarrassed.

"Boone," she repeated. "It's a long walk. I thought he could use some company."

"I wasn't questioning you."

Maria hesitated. She almost felt like she shouldn't keep the whole Benny thing a secret. She trusted Arcade more than most, and he probably wouldn't even make fun of her for it. Lecture, maybe, but not mock.

But there was something about all this that just felt...private.

Boone knew that Benny was alive, and how she'd saved him, and why. Boone was her partner, and you didn't keep important information from a partner, even if you kept it from a friend.

And Cass knew about all the mushy emotional stuff, because in a moment of weakness, she'd needed to ask another woman if it was normal to want to spend more time with a guy after you were done with him. (To find out, they'd sprung for the Boyfriend Experience with Santiago and Old Ben, but it had just ended up feeling a little silly.)

As far as the others were concerned, she had tried to con some information out of him, he'd gotten away, and that was the end of it. It was easier in that version of the story. Less messy. And she came off looking not quite so dumb.

"So...are you leaving?" Arcade asked. She shook her head, startled.

"What?"

"You can keep staring off into space if you want to, but Cass is waiting."

"Oh. Yeah." She squinted into the gloom at Cass, who was indeed leaning against the elevator door with a pack in each hand and a rifle slung across her back. "Sorry, Cass."

"No problem. I enjoy standing perfectly still in a dark room."

"'Kay, then. Hey, Raul," she yelled into the kitchen, _"Dejado más Nukas en el refrigerador."_

"You're gonna rot my teeth out, boss," he called back, just like he always did.

"ARE YOU LEAVING, PUMPKIN?" Lily lumbered in from the other room, where Raul had set up a little light for her. "I'VE FINISHED YOUR SWEATER, DEAR. TAKE IT WITH YOU IN CASE IT GETS CHILLY."

"It's seventy-five degrees out," Maria objected, even as she tucked her new sweater under her arm.

"OH, BUT YOU NEVER CAN TELL WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN. NOW LISTEN TO YOUR GRANDMA, AND I'LL HAVE SOME NICE BUTTERSCOTCH COOKIES WAITING FOR YOU WHEN YOU COME HOME."

Maria stood on her tiptoes to kiss the nightkin on her leathery cheek.

"Of course I'll wear my beautiful sweater. I think it's the nicest thing I've ever owned." It really was, and not just because it wasn't all full of rips and bloodstains. "Lily, when I come back, do you think you can teach me to knit?"

"WHY, I'D BE PLEASED AS PUNCH! OH, GOODNESS, WHAT A COSY TIME WE'LL HAVE. YOU GO ON AND BATHE IN THE BLOOD OF YOUR ENEMIES, PUMPKIN, AND I'LL SEE IF I CAN'T DIG UP ANOTHER PAIR OF KNITTING NEEDLES. OH, HOW LOVELY." She wandered off, chattering to herself about buying more yarn from one of the local bighorner ranches.

"I could learn to knit," Arcade muttered under his breath. Maria wrapped an arm around him.

"Don't feel left out. We can learn together."

"Oh, get off me!" Even in the dark, she could see that he was blushing. She gave him a squeeze.

"Keep an eye on the robots for me, will you?"

"I will not."

"I'm hearing 'I will.'"

"Get out of here, already!"

She gave him a peck on the cheek, too, and let him go.

"Bye, Arcade!"

He stalked off into the kitchen, muttering that her attitude would not be missed.

Cass waited until the elevator doors closed behind them before she turned on the smirk.  The motion of the elevator in the Tops had kept her quiet; she must be feeling better.

"So--" she started.

"So," Maria interrupted. "You and Veronica?"

Cass's face turned pink, and she said no more. For a while.

*

"She's too young," Cass complained as the two of them walked down the old highway, ED-E bobbing along behind them. "I refuse to be some old cougar preying on young girls."

"Preying?" Maria repeated skeptically. "Veronica knows what she's doing. And she's not exactly a child."

"I'm old enough to be her mother."

"You are not!"

"Technically, I am. Puberty hit me early."

"Oh, you poor tiny baby child, that must have been miserable. But, still. You're thirty-seven. You're not _old_."

"I guess." Cass took another sip from her water bottle, eyes on the horizon. ED-E would spot any trouble long before either of them did, but there was still no reason to get complacent.

Maria shoved her glasses back up the sweat-slick bridge of her nose, cursing as her vision blurred the second she tried to look into the distance. The fading in and out was getting less severe over time, but Doc said it would probably never go away entirely.

"Nothing out there but a couple of wild brahmin," Cass said helpfully. Maria frowned. That explained why that rock formation was mooing.

"Look, if you like Veronica, I think you should give it a shot. She's a sweet girl and an amazing friend, and, honestly, life's too short not to take a chance on something that could make you happy."

"I never said I liked her!"

"You didn't have to _say_ it. You're practically glowing, and I don't just mean where that ghoul bit you."

Cass inspected her bandaged wrist, scowling.

"Yeah, so much for the rangers keeping the roads clear. Anyway, I'm not _glowing_. And if I am, it's only because...because..."

"Good sex?" Maria suggested.

"Oh my god, the _best_." Cass pulled her cowboy hat down over her face in embarrassment. "At least, I think. _I_ felt...But I mean, she's done this before. I...I feel like _I'm_ the kid here."

"I'm sure you figured it out just fine."

Cass shook her head, still hiding behind the hat. Maria carefully guided her around some brahmin droppings in the road.

"Give me a guy, and I know how to handle myself. It's pretty straightforward. But women--what even _are_ they?"

"Cass, _we're_ women."

"Thank you! You're so helpful!" She plopped the hat back down on her head. "It's just...I've _been_ with women--once or twice--but I've never been _with_ a woman. Not as a serious thing."

Which was something in itself.  She had never talked about anything as  _serious_.

"Cass, really--I don't see any reason why it can't work out between you two. But it's up to you to decide how this goes. Be friends, be a couple--just be good to each other, hey?"

"'Hey'?" Cass repeated. Maria shrugged.

"So I'm a Chairman now. All the more reason why you shouldn't be looking for my advice. I'm the worst at this."

"Okay, then you can tell me what _not_ to do."

"Sure. If Veronica tries to murder you, don't fall into bed with her the next time you see her. And if you do, don't fall asleep."

Something in Cass's face softened.

"Hey, Benny's probably fine. We'll find him, okay?"

"What the fuck do I care if Benny's okay?" Maria shouted, taken by surprise by the anger flaring up in her. Cass stiffened.

"Obviously you don't."

"No, I don't, so quit looking at me like that! I'm not sad! I don't feel bad I left him on his own, just 'cause he got beat up a little. _He_ got himself out here. _He_ can get himself back, or _wherever_ it is he thinks he's going. I don't care!"

"Do you want to punch someone?" Cass asked seriously. "I always feel better after I punch a jerk."

"I said I don't feel bad!"

"Okay, just so we're clear? I wasn't offering to let you punch _me_."

Maria took a sip from her canteen, mostly to avoid blurting something out in anger that she knew she would regret.

"I'm sorry," she said after a minute. "I don't know why I'm acting like this."

"Like a totally normal person who doesn't feel anything? Don't worry about it. You can punch _him_ when we find him, and then you'll be fine."

"That sounds nice..."

"And, hey, if you _were_ worried, which you're clearly not, but if you were, you wouldn't need to be. You left him a gun, right?"

"Yeah..." Just a dinky little holdout pistol, but he seemed attached to it. And a familiar weapon was worth ten guns you'd never fired before. "Yeah," she said more firmly. "He's got a gun. He's a grown man. He's _fine_."


	7. What can I lose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: serious injury in this chapter.

Never should have let her go, Benny thought as he cowered--no, strategically concealed himself--behind a honey mesquite bush. It wasn't the greatest camouflage, but at least it would mask his smell from the deathclaw sniffing around the end of the ravine.

Oh, sweet Maria. Pistol, not Pussycat, not that he'd have kicked either one of them out of bed at a time like this.

He shifted his grip on his new knife's hilt, wishing he had at least traded her for something bigger. He was feeling stronger for having eaten his fill, but not brawl-with-a-monster-and-win strong. He had enough water to last him clear into California, but at the moment, all it was doing was weighing him down. He was wearing a goddamn pair of _pants_ , but he still didn't figure this deathclaw was gonna be real impressed.

If he ever met those fuckin' merchants again, he'd show _them_ what a two-cap steak knife was good for.

" _Anger makes you blind._ " His mom's voice came back to him through the gap of twenty years or more, from the day she'd taught him how to hold a knife.

Her words hadn't even been meant for him; she'd been telling Swank--still a nameless kid back then--not to lose his cool in a fight. But Benny--also, then, a nameless brat--had looked past the words to the real meaning. Make him angry, make him blind.

So he'd taunted the orphan brat about his dead mother until he'd made him cry, then knocked him down and forced his surrender.

Maybe it wasn't the usual basis for a lifelong friendship, but they both figured a few things out that day. Next time one of the Boot Rider kids went after Swank, Benny talked the guy into a fury, then pushed him down a hill. Next time one came for Benny, Swank calmly hit him with a bat.

So, back to the deathclaw--it was too much to hope that he could _insult_ it to death. And as for his other strategy of having a bigger, better-armed buddy watching his back, well, that one wasn't on the table anymore.

So...he was finally going to have to start listening to his mother.

" _You're not as smart as you think you are._ "

Okay, good start. Not a whole lot of help in the current situation, but a start.

" _Doesn't matter how big and strong the other guy is if you can hit him five times before he hits you once._ "

Better. Still not real useful against a deathclaw.

" _Nuka Quartz explodes if you mix it with turpentine and Abraxo._ "

That...

That one he could work with.

Fuckin' Jimmy the Merchant wanted to taunt him with a Nuka-Cola on a hot day? Let him. Jimmy the Merchant wasn't sharp enough to know when his pocket was geing picked.

Not that Benny had even wanted it for drinking; Nukas only made dehydration worse. But a Quartz would fetch good caps for its weight--and Jimmy was an asshole. He deserved to lose _something_.

Benny eased the pack off his shoulders, keeping a careful eye on the deathclaw. It hadn't spotted him yet, but it was in no hurry to wander off, either.

He had plenty of turpentine--good for treating cuts and bruises if there was no real medicine on hand. Abraxo, he'd found by the side of the road, dropped with a bunch of worthless scrap by some other traveller struggling under too much weight. And there was the Nuka, right on top of everything where the glass bottle wasn't too likely to break. He set it on a nearby rock with a soft _clink_.

The deathclaw's head swung toward him with a sharp growl. Benny froze.

Oh shit--oh shit--oh shit--

It darted toward him. Without a moment's hesitation, Benny abandoned his supplies and ran.

He couldn't outrun a deathclaw, he already knew that. He couldn't dodge it. He couldn't fight it. But goddamn, he wasn't going down without _trying_.

He burst out of the ravine, half-hopping, hoping his knee wouldn't give out on him. The deathclaw's roar rattled the stones behind him.

He cut left, following the cliff. The deathclaw was right behind him, skidding on loose sand as it followed his sharp turn.

He wished he could remember if deathclaws ran faster in a straight line, or a zig-zag. He'd spent too much time in the city. Well, hell--the odds were 50/50. He dodged right.

Its claws raked across the back of his legs, sweeping his feet out from under him. Fuck! He hit the ground and rolled, just barely quick enough to avoid the claws a second time.

He swiped at it with the knife, and opened a gash across the back of its hand. Great! Now he just had to do that another eight or nine hundred more times.

Bellowing with rage, the deathclaw reared up on its hind legs. Then, before Benny could even try to get away, it stomped on his outstretched left arm.

He felt a _snap_ that his body wasn't ready to process as pain. One claw pierced his shoulder, deep enough to grind against the bone. He screamed something--he didn't even know what--and frantically stabbed at what he hoped was a soft spot on the foot.

It wasn't.

The deathclaw wrapped its hand around his waist and yanked him free of its toe-claw. He could almost swear it looked pleased with itself as it swung him through the air.

It shook him back and forth, feeling like it was slamming him into a wall each time. His left arm dangled, useless. His feet, thrashing wildly, found nothing to kick against. He felt one of his battered ribs snap in the deathclaw's grip, then another. Its hot breath blasted in his face, razor-sharp fangs glistening as its mouth opened wide.

This was it. It was over. Nothing left to do but die. But he just kept stabbing, each little pinprick another attempt to annoy the thing to death. Eyes locked on its teeth, snarling back in the monster's face, he stabbed at whatever he could reach. And when the cheap blade broke off, he kept pounding at it with the broken hilt.

He was totally unprepared for the moment when it let him go.

The ground slammed the last of the breath out of him. He lay there, dazed, and watched as the deathclaw staggered around, roaring and clawing at its own face.

What...in the goddamn...

In a minute, it was lying on the ground, not moving. Benny dragged himself to his feet, expecting every second for the creature to jump up and knock his head off. He hobbled over to it, looked down--and started to laugh.

The knife blade...the fuckin' knife blade was lodged in the deathclaw's eye, so deep it must have hit the brain.

"Ha! Take that, you dead piece of shit!" He kicked it in the head. " _Anger_ makes you _blind_!" He kicked it again. "I'm wearing _pants_!" He kicked it one more time, and knocked one of its teeth out. He picked that up and brandished it like a knife. "I'm alive and you're not, you dumb fuck!"

A distant roar reminded him that deathclaws usually moved in packs. He ducked back into the ravine and grabbed his pack, and then he fuckin' _ran_ , until the adrenaline wore off. Then he fell over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually wrote this chapter a while back. Literally five minutes after I broke Benny's arm, I fell down the stairs and busted up my ankle pretty bad. I was on crutches for two months. I figured I had it coming.


	8. She don't like flying but I'm glad I'm alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: still serious injury.

Jean was the first to spot him. Of course. Six guards in this lousy caravan, and she was the only one who could be bothered to use her binoculars.

"Dead guy in the road," she announced.

"Oh, shit." Pete pulled on the reins, and the wagon creaked to a halt. The one behind them followed suit. "Where?"

"In the _road_ ," she repeated. "There's just the one."

"I don't pay you to talk smart."

"You should.  You'd get your money's worth."  She raised the binoculars to scan the area again.

"Look like a trap to you?"  Pete didn't make a habit of asking advice from the hired help, so she gave it her due attention.

"Ain't a good spot for an ambush.  Too open.  We are coming into Viper territory, and I've seen 'em pull this trick, leaving a body with a pack full of loot as bait.  Looks like this one crawled a ways after he got tore up, though.  That trail leads down from the waste, see?  Ain't like Vipers to put that much work into the staging.  Jesus, he must have got mauled by an animal and bled to death."

"So is it safe to approach?"

"Can't be sure.  Even if he died here natural-like, they might have frag-mined the body."  She looked around at the other guards, who were all standing around looking sullen.  "No, don't all volunteer at once, boys.  _I'll_ check."  She hopped down from her seat on the wagon and walked past them, eyes on the ground.  Bunch of damn incompetents.  She deserved a raise.

*

A voice came to Benny from what seemed like very far away:

"It's clear."

Female.  Pussycat?  Couldn't get the breath to ask.

She spoke again.

"Tell Pete to bring the wagons.  You get his pack.  I'll strip the body."

Not Pussycat.  He started to sink back into the dark.

Then she grabbed at him, and his body finally registered that broken arm as pain.  He wanted to scream, but his lungs wouldn't fill.  All he could do was moan a little, so soft she didn't even hear him over her own grunt of exertion as she flipped him over on his back.

"What the...is that from a deathclaw?"  She pried his fingers away from the tooth.  " _Damn_.  No wonder you look like you've been through a meat grinder."

"Sh'd see th' other guy..."

She yelped in surprise.  A second later, something--hand, maybe--slammed down on the hole in his shoulder, and he blacked out all the way.

*

Snatches of conversation reached him:

"Just leave him...not worth it..."

"And now he's done for."

"...old man says he's a doctor..."

"...gonna pay for stims?"

"Fuck you, Pete."

"Fuck _you_ , Jean."

Then quiet.

*

A needle jabbed him in the neck, and consciousness came oozing back.

Another went into his stomach, then his shoulder.  Benny found that he could breathe, a little.

"There y'are.  Have to make do with bandages for the rest.  The stimpaks will help replace the blood he lost, but he could use a few more shots."

"This is all he gets.  What about the arm?"

"Can't heal that with a stimpak.  Ain't a clean break, see?  Bone's sticking right through the skin."

"I _see_ , Jesus.  Just fix it."

"He's going to need some Med-X first."

"No Med-X."

Benny's eyelids fluttered.  He could _really_ use some Med-X.

"I don't think you understand how much this is goin' to hurt.  At least give him some whiskey."

"He's already got all he's going to get.  Now, _do_ it."

"All right, all right.  I'm going to need you to hold him down."

The woman settled her hands on his shoulders.  Benny finally got his eyes open, and looked up into her face.  She was probably in her fifties, with hard eyes and close-cropped grey hair, weather-beaten, scarred-up from years of hard living, and absolutely the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

"Hello," he mumbled.

She frowned at him, but at least she didn't hit him this time.

"You'd better make this worth my while, stranger.  Your doctoring is coming out of my pay."

"Anything..."  He couldn't...think.  Words?  He tried a smile, and she blushed like a young girl.

Another face loomed over him.  An old man, skinny, sunburned, with a week's worth of rough beard.  Idly, Benny wondered if his own face was that stubbly.

"Welcome back, sonny," the old man said briskly.  "Gonna have to do something about that arm of yours.  You want something to bite down on?"

Benny nodded.  This wasn't the first time he'd had to set a broken bone without chems.  He'd hoped he'd never have to do it again.

He focused on the lady while the old doc shoved a wooden spoon between his teeth.  He'd get through this, just like he got through everything else.

"Hold him, now, missy," the doctor said.  "And when I say hold him, I mean _hold_ him, mind.  This may take a few tries.  These old hands ain't as strong as they used to be."

When the first attempt to set the bone ended with matters worse than they had been before, she poured half a bottle of whiskey down his throat and said he could add it to what he already owed.


End file.
